Twenty-Seven Bones

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief Thanksgiving

Whatever gods may be

That no man lives forever

That dead men rise up never

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

— Algernon Swinburne, “The Garden of Proserpine”

See my lips tremble and my eyeballs roll,

Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!

— Alexander Pope, “Eloise to Abelard”